Friday to your Crusoe
by minatochan2
Summary: England's exhausted, and America's scared out of his wits. Sometimes books don't do much to stop the fear of aliens that might not be as far as they'd think. No yaoi, no pairings. Fluff-Comedy. Little America. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia. Any and all characters are purely for entertainment purposes and are not intended to be offensive to any race, culture, or ethnic group.

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England sighed, falling face-first onto his king-sized bed. Having Canada over for a play date had been a very, _very_ bad idea. The country did not even bother to change out of his navy vest into a pair of decent pajamas. He wished that he had known ahead of time that taking care of a colony would deteriorate his "English gentleman" persona. He exhaled heavily into the blankets. England doubted that he could even move; such an effective paralysis he had not known existed outside of his spells and even then….

England reached up and fingered his nightstand for a book, accidently knocking over a pile of well-read scrolls and hexes. He ignored the fact with another mumble that was stifled by the mattress until he retrieved the nearest volume. He pulled it in front of himself, lifting his head to read the title. "_Robinson Crusoe_," he muttered. His skull fell back down with a faded thud and the book dropped from his hands onto the bed before him.

He really should have been going to sleep, but the amount of adrenaline pulsing through him from the twenty times America had almost gotten himself killed that day was begging to differ. A part of him wanted to blame the tyke Canada for going along with the ingenious idea of drinking the laundry detergent. Naturally though, it was England's brother's idea. "I was wrong showing him how to make poisonous potions that one time," echoed the mattress through the empty room. He rubbed his sore back. "I feel as old as China."

With some effort, the country rolled over so that he was facing the vaulted ceiling. A religious mosaic filtered in a colorful array of the evening's light. He frowned at the unwelcome rays for stretched moments. "Bloody Puritans."

The country propped himself up on his elbows, glancing around the vicinity. A separate bookcase loomed from the wall and a desk laden with the same content was shoved off to the side. England winced at the out-of-place stuffed polar bear on the floor. Canada must have left it when he was scrambling to get away from one of the curses he had triggered. He could not help but laugh at the thought of the singed curl wilting against the child's face. The moment was instantly interrupted by a high-pitched scream that shook England's ears. He bolted up onto his feet with energy he did not know he had, sprinting toward the hallway. _Please don't be that Frenchman again!_

Someone obviously had the same idea as a small blur blew open the door and darted into his gut, knocking the wind out of him and leaving the two people tumbling onto the floor. "AN ALIEN! HE'S GONNA GET ME!"

It took England a moment to gather his thoughts enough to notice that it was America who was clinging to his vest with terrified tears streaming down his cheeks. The older of the two blinked down in surprise, raising his head to the ajar doorway. The growing shadows of dusk flickered along the corridor, but aside from that, it was completely empty. England placed a hand on the youth's head in an attempt to calm him down. "America. There's no one after you."

The toddler hesitantly followed his brother's sight. "B-but there was!" he exclaimed in astonishment, turning back to face his protector. "You believe me don't you!?"

England looked between the entrance and the boy who was hugging his chest. "Well," he started, trying to pick his battles carefully. He decided on a neutral response. "Maybe I should make you some food."

America's skin flashed a slightly pale hue before he mumbled, "Um, I'm not really hungry." He silently thanked his stomach for not grumbling and giving away his hidden motive.

England concealed his disappointment (he really enjoyed cooking!), instead cheerfully chiming, "How about a story then?"

The colony gasped, "Robinson Crusoe?"

His elder brother glanced toward the book that was still sitting on his bed. "Are you sure? We've read that one so many times already."

"Robinson Crusoe!" America repeated loudly, practically jumping up and down at the prospect. England watched him with wide eyes as the toddler went through his favorite parts with a bubbly passion. "One day I wanna fight off cannibals and wolves and save the day! I'm gonna be a hero just like him when I'm big! Just you wait and see!"

England smiled, playing along with his younger brother who was making stabbing motions at the air. "Oh really? How would I fit in? Perhaps I'm a handsomer version of the English Captain." The man stroked his invisible beard with a smirk.

America pointed a finger at his elder, a broad grin sneaking across his face. "Nooo! You'd be my Friday!"

England grimaced. "You do recall that Friday was the cannibal who turned into Mr. Crusoe's servant, correct?"

The boy nodded largely. "Yep! But Friday was also his best friend when he was shipwrecked and helped him out and stuff!"

The country flinched at the response before beaming in return, ruffling his brothers unruly brown tufts. "Very well, Little Crusoe. Your Big Brother Friday here says it's time for bed after your story." He raised an eyebrow, daring the boy to question the statement. America scrunched up his face in distaste but trotted behind his elder toward the bed. England observed him trying to climb up onto the mattress that was easily worth two of him in height. He shook his head and finally offered some aid, dumping the colony onto a pile of pillows.

"I'm going to go get another lamp. It will most likely be dark before we finish the first part," the man excused, tapping the small head with his palm. "Don't get into too much trouble by then."

America popped his face out from the end of a heavy quilt. "Okay!"

With that, England vanished into the hallway, making sure to leave the remaining bedside light lit as a precaution. He soon reappeared, snapping a match along the mahogany desk. He applied the fire to the wick and set the lamp down on the same furniture piece. "America?" He had not heard any crashing, banging, or explosions so the country figured nothing too dangerous had occurred while he was away. "America? Where are you?"

A hushed snort resonated from a meter away. England paused for a moment, kneeling down at the edge of the bed. The face of a napping child greeted him. America sniffed in his sleep, cuddling down deeper into the comforter on top of him. The older of the two sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. I was worried he wasn't going to let me get any sleep at all tonight."

"Worried about what?"

England stiffened, slowly sneaking a glance over his shoulder. A tall, white figure with large empty eyes towered over him.

"Hello."

England hoped that gentlemen were allowed to scream. He wrenched his charge out from the blankets and dashed as swiftly as his feet could carry him, skidding around a corner and accidentally colliding with a wall on more than one occasion.

"I TOLD YOU THERE WERE ALIENS!"

"NOT NOW AMERICA!"

The figure was not left alone for long as another voice soon hummed through the room. "I'm surprise he didn't notice your accent Mr. Russia!" Lithuania commented through a window.

"Aye, me too. That is what you get when you fight with me over possession of Canada," the giant Russian said with an ominous innocence, smoothly removing the large head-piece of his costume. The blonde brushed some of the stray wisps of hair back into place while smiling distantly.

Lithuania nodded, a nervous bead of sweat slipping down his forehead. "O-of course! Maybe we should leave now. I think they've had enough." With that, the brunette hastily scrambled off into a line of trees.

The "alien" watched the form escape into the distance. "He thinks too much." Suddenly, a cool chill slithered down the man's spine, making his hair stand on end. A silhouette fell across the floor in front of him.

"Why don't you marry me, brother?"

Russia took off out of the window like lightning. "W-wait for me!"

**The End** O^O

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**Author's Note:**

Crackfic? Probably. Didn't quite know how to end it and a scared Russia seemed like the best way at the time... R&R please!

Dedicated to my England-loving best friend! Hope you laughed (/'xD)! Love you and Merry Christmas! :D

Minatochan2


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